


Where the Sun is Bright but the Moon is Brighter

by CinderReadsandWrites



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Death, Background Character Death, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Folkmagic, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Mild Gore, No Sportarobbie yet, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Horror, Robbie is also classy, Robbie is stressed, Smoking, Southern Gothic, Southern Themes, Stress 101, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wine, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-10-19 19:43:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10646739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinderReadsandWrites/pseuds/CinderReadsandWrites
Summary: With the untimely disappearance of his father, Robbie Rotten inherits the estate of one Glanni G. Glæpur, and with it, much, much more.





	1. Stump Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie starts moving his things in. Townsfolk are weird. Nothing new, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stump Water - Water than has collected in the hollow bowl of a tree stump. It has been said to cure warts, tetter, acne, rashes, and other dermatological issues. It is said to be purer than regular water because it is elevated above the rest of the land.

A languid path sloped down the estate into the surrounding forest, curving to skirt the areas where thorns had crept too far inland, making safe passage impossible.

Weary feet made their way through a well trekked path; the breathy exertion of a man not accustomed to the humid air. Looking out unto his newfound ownership and the chaos that had befallen upon it, Robert Rotten allowed himself one last deep breath before stepping into his new home.

 

Robbie soon learns the difficulty of the task that was adjusting to his new life. His possessions arrived days after he did, with a rough looking white van that creaked its way to a stop near the edge of the forest and a phone call with bad signal- despite being fairly close to the phone it's call was directed at. The driver sputtered what Robbie could only assume was an adamant refusal to pull further toward the forest into the receiver. Some half-hearted excuse about the van having issues with gravel roads, apparently. Robbie is sure that the man's claims are bullshit.

Irritated, Robbie dismisses them, rolls up his sleeves, and gets into his car. Despite the fact that it's too small a car to carry all of his luggage, he refuses to carry his things 2 miles up and down hill.

Wiping the sweat from his otherwise immaculate brow, he went to work hefting crate after crate to his car before the moving van behind him shifts and rolls gradually away.

 

By the time the last of the boxes had found themselves shoved onto the porch and into the doorway, the burn of the sun had seeped low, bathing the house in a mild light.

Inside, Robbie collapses breathlessly onto the floor, sweat pasting damp black locks to his now burnt face, body spent and weary. He would have collapsed onto the couch, or perhaps a bed, but honestly, he wasn't sure how sanitary they were at the moment. Eyes closed and deft fingers pressing rhythmically into his temples, an attempt to alleviate his growing migraine, Robbie groaned.

The man rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, wondering if coming here was a mistake. He hadn’t had much of a choice; suddenly receiving the news that an inheritance had been bestowed upon him at the disappearance of his father.

Too soon, tendrils of inactivity coaxed Robbie back into a standing position. Mind wandering, he passed down the labyrinthine halls of the house, the smothering scent of dust permeating his senses as his fingers tripped over the walls. He was vaguely aware of the vibrations rocking gently up his arm as his fingernails snagged where the wood of the walls had become brittle with age, revealing yet another expense he was going to have to deal with later. While what his father had left him would have made him at least the slighted bit wealthier, had he just sold it, rather than vowing to spend his time and money to repair it, Robbie’s stomach clenched unpleasantly at the idea of selling something that had belonged to him.

The weight of his responsibilities settled over him as he picked his way back into the foyer. Robbie felt he had done exceptionally well, in so short a time, at restoring some semblance of order to the entry room. He had spent the day before his luggage arrived on hands and knees, scrubbing the shine back into the foyer before methodically working his way through the rest of the floor, washing, waxing, and polishing until he could use the tiles as a mirror.

Robbie tried to keep his home immaculate and respectable, whether or not he was expecting guests. He could not speak for his father, Glanni, who had not even considered taking measures to hide just how little he cared.  
  

   
When the weather was fair he drove the few miles between forest and town, careful not to mash the rotting corpses of roadkill further into the tarmac, and would collect groceries. 

He made a point to introduce himself to the baker, Mr.Zweets, a portly man, and his assistant, a young man named Jives, who's intimidating height was looked over due to his sweet nature.

From where he stood now Robbie could see the town in its entirety. On either side of him were the baker's and the grocer's, and just ahead the post office and what appeared to be a diner. Around them, ramshackle homes provided an altogether uninviting scene. Most houses had second hand trucks, rebel flags hanging off the tailgates, in their driveways. What looked from a distance to be some sorts of wind dream catchers and wind chimes hanging from windows and shop signs became, on closer inspection, an arts and crafts clusterfuck of feathers and what appeared to be hair, and strange rings with old keys hanging off of them; bound and strung in increasingly bizarre patterns that Robbie thought it best not to question.

A harsh tolling rang from the bell tower of a small church as it emptied its attendants in a solemn procession of heavy lidded eyes and grimacing mouths. Robbie was satisfied to finally lay eyes on some of the townspeople, having found little time yet to do so. A majority of them were either tan skinned brunettes or light skinned blondes, with more than a couple of gingers scatters around. One thing that was the same, though, was their apparent distrust for strangers.

The sun beating down onto him overhead threatens to burn him to a crisp as he made his way into the grocers, inclining his head to the woman sweeping outside, only for her to glare at him and continue sweeping. Robbie was beginning to believe that appeasing the suspicion of these people would be an exercise in patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How does Glanni afford an entire estate? The world may never know.


	2. Cobwebs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cleanliness of a man's home is a reflection of just how much he cares for the state and condition of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cobwebs - Spider webs. Putting silk from a cobweb onto a bleeding cut has been known to work as a makeshift bandage, as it stops the bleeding and helps to clot. They have also been used for ague, malaria, goiter, erysipelas, poisoning, colds, and fevers, among other things.

Stopping in the kitchen doorway, groceries in hand, he mentally notes how the walls of the kitchen appeared to be in decent shape as opposed to the rest of the house. There was one large, concave window looking out over what... Might've been a field, at best. Dried plants, herbs of some sort, hang over the sill from the curtains. Robbie never knew his father to be the kind of person to like flowery things, so they could only have been from a half-hearted attempt at making some homemade potpourri. Glanni was into that kind of fancy bullshit, because of course he was. Whatever. Unimpressed, icy-grey eyes dart around the room, zeroing in on what appears to be a beat up icebox.

Oh. Oh hell no.

He had forgotten to hook up his refrigerator in his haste, and there was no way he was going to put his food in that thing. God knows what had been in it before.

The tall man grumbles, drops his armload of plastic bags (most of them had boxed sweets in them, so no harm in doing it), and walks out of the room.

As he leaves the kitchen, he studies the staircase with hesitance before starting up. He’s cautious as he takes each step because he’s not fully convinced that these stairs won’t give out beneath him at any given moment. The top step lets out a startling creak as Robbie presses his foot down upon it. He freezes for a few moments before gently pressing his foot down slowly until he is sure that he won’t go plummeting to his death if he puts his full weight on it.

Once he’s upstairs, he lets out a huff of relief before he walks towards what he assumes is the master bedroom. He nudges the door all the way open and sucks in a sharp breath- wide eyes falling onto the large window with a deep windowsill on the wall to the left. He hurries towards it, quickly swiping the dust away from the windowsill with his handkerchief (he would never dare to touch such grime with his bare hands) before carefully sitting down upon it. Once he’s sure it will hold his weight, he shifts around until his back hits the wall, and he draws his knees up to his chest. It’s a little cramped, but he’s not going to let his height get in the way of this amazing seat. He presses his head against the wall behind him, rolling his head to the side to look out of the smudged window.

Robbie's eyes lazily dart around the surrounding fauna. The house was, literally, in the middle of the woods. It is certainly secluded, not that Robbie minded. The less annoying neighbors the better.

 

A few hours later leaves the building looking more like a house and less like a catastrophe. His first priority had been moving that horrid icebox out and hooking up his own refrigerator before stocking his groceries. Said icebox was currently resting on the porch outside, still leaning on his dolly.

In the hours spent moving furniture, day had quickly shifted to night. Robbie groans at the thought of the long day of cleaning and unpacking he has to do tomorrow. He shuffles through his suitcase before grabbing a towel and a couple of his toiletries. He'd deal with stocking the bathroom shelves later.

There are two bathrooms in the building as far as he knows. One downstairs, one upstairs. He heads to the upstairs one and is slightly shocked to find that the room is both the cleanest, and, possibly, the dirtiest room in the whole house. While the bathtub, loo, and floor are clean, the mirror is covered in lipstick marks and the sink is filled with what Robbie hopes is bits of eyeshadow that had been broken off from palettes and not pieces of the roof.

After being momentarily disgusted he strips, folding his clothes and placing them on the toilet lid before wrapping a towel around his waist and looking in the cabinets beneath the sink. He's pleasantly surprised to see that there is bleach under it as he takes both the jug and a rag to the tub. It may outwardly look clean, but there is really no telling what- or who- Glanni has had in the thing. After scrubbing for a good 10 minutes he rinses it out and steps inside.

The knobs are a bit awkward and apparently on wrong, because the water that blasts Robbie's legs is way colder than he anticipated. Oh well. He'll fix and replace them later.

After fifteen minutes of intense scrubbing and washing, Robbie feels that he has finally cleaned off all of the sweat and dirt of the last two days off of him. He turns the water off. Wrapping his towel back around his waist, he shuffles towards the lipstick-covered mirror. Did he really look that bad when all of his makeup was washed away? He had been running around non-stop for the last several days with the abrupt packing, driving to his new house, and moving furniture around. His current appearance is to be expected, he supposes.

Once he sets his mind to something, he doesn’t let up- and that’s what had happened with his move.

He combs his fingers through his loose, dripping hair before turning to put on his clothes and proceed by attempting to wash dried lipstick off of the mirror and eyeshadow out of the sink.


	3. Skull Lichen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skull Lichen - A common variety of lichen, known as Parmelia satilis, or skull lichen. According to folklore it was found to be an effective treatment for epilepsy if found growing on a human skull; especially that of an executed criminal. It was also the main ingredient of Unguentum armariun, a liniment used in the magnetic curing of wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Robbie, didn't daddy ever tell you not to look out windows at night?

Robbie jolts awake. Blinking rapidly, he tries to clear his blurry vision as he scans the room for whatever had pulled him away from a much-needed slumber. He doesn't find anything. Instead, he gets up on wobbly legs and stumbles across the room until he was standing in front of one of the windows. He pulls aside the curtains and leans in close, squinting his eyes as he scans the darkness for anything outside that might've disturbed his sleep. There might have been an animal on his porch, or a particularly noisy bird. Suddenly, the man hears a shriek from outside and jumps away from the window faster than he would like to admit.

It stops as suddenly as it had started, and the silence is, quit possibly, more horrifying than the shrill scream.

The shrill scream that sounded far too human.

Before logic and fear have the chance to really kick in, his thoughts immediately turn to the worse. Was someone out there? Was someone hurt, or worse?

No, no, that couldn't be it. He’s starting to think that he’s still dreaming, but a sudden, louder shout has his gaze snapping back to the window window- eyes widening as he takes in the sight of the something- or, rather, things- coalesced in the mass of prairie grasses he called a lawn, causing quite the commotion.

Robbie spins on his heel and races towards the door. He stumbles a few times but makes it to the entryway in one piece. He fumbles with the locks before jerking the doors open, gawking at the creature in his yard as they freeze, looking back at him.

Wolves?

No, that couldn't be it. Their posture was wrong and their body types odd and hunched. Maybe some sort of stray dogs? Whatever they were, the group tore off through the grass in the direction of the forest and into the underbrush.

Robbie stood there for a moment before closing the double doors once and locking them once again.

Robbie rakes his fingers through his messy hair. He takes in a shaky breath, counts to seven, then releases it slowly in an attempt to push down the uneasy feeling that is building up in his stomach. How could such small animals make that much noise?

Robbie glances down at his attire. He was wearing a pair of white and red boxers, a black T-shirt, and that’s it. He vaguely remembers being too tired to put on his robe last night, and he remembers suffering for it as the memories of the cold that had seeped into his body come back in small bursts. He shivers at the thought as he crosses his arms against his chest with a wince.

The lithe man headed towards the staircase on shaking legs, still jumpy due to his rude awakening. Once upstairs, he makes a beeline for his bedroom, searching through a few boxes until he finds a pair of dark grey shorts and a black tank top. It may be chilly in the house, but he isn't stupid. Temperatures rise and fall quickly in the southern states. It could go from being 30 degrees above freezing to 120 fahrenheit and back in the snap of your fingers.

With the clothes draped over his arm, he turns away from the boxes, gaze lingering on the king sized bed. He shakes his head and makes his way into the bathroom. While the bed looked tempting, it was probably a box spring or something equally horrible that would just end up ruining his back. Plus, he hadn't really slept in an actual bed for years. His fluffy, orange recliner sufficed.

The cold water Robbie splashes against his face only intensifies the lingering chill from the night before; however, it also further wakes him up, which he desperately needs. Despite wanting to write off his most recent recent, terrifying experience as something he'd blown out of proportion with his half-asleep brain, he can’t seem to shake the worry and uneasiness flowing throughout his body.

Robbie dries his face, scowling at the tired features reflecting back at him through the mirror. He'll get back on track once he gets settled- he knows it. He just has to get through this last push, and for the first time since he arrived, he feels as though he's making progress. The house is pretty big, and it would take the whole day to move around the rest of his furniture, but he could probably finish everything by late afternoon with the help of a few cups of coffee. Or more.

He slips his clothes on, gelling his hair back into it's usual pompadour before heading back downstairs. He can go a few days without putting on any actual makeup. In the city it had been an everyday occurrence, but who's going to judge him in the sticks? Raccoons? Deer?

 

Eight hours later has Robbie sprawled out on the floor of the foyer once again. He had worked tirelessly and the results are astonishing. It’s almost as if the house he had walked into a few days ago no longer existed. Instead, he’s going to be living in a clean house decorated with rather sturdy furniture and the occasional antique. He also gave the house a modern boost, introducing it to the beauty that is WiFi. 

Then Robbie remembers that morning.

The man sits up abruptly, back going ramrod straight. He can feel his pulse quickening, and he gnaws lightly at his bottomlip with a realization.

Dogs don't squall. 

_Dogs don't scream bloody murder._

Robbie stands and walks to the front door, hand hovering over the doorknob, and after a moment he undoes the locks and opens the doors.

At first, he doesn't see anything unusual. The grass is thoroughly trampled, of course, but... Then the smell hits him.

Mixed in with the humid smell of wet dirt and pond water is the smell of drying, sun-baked blood. He looks out to where the beasts were that morning and nearly vomits then and there. Where it sat was the bloated corpse of what Robbie thought might've been a deer.

On closer inspection it was a mountain lion.

Robbie pulls his shirt up over his nose and closes the doors for what feels like the hundredth time that day. He turns to face his newly cleaned house, pressing his back against the door and with a low sigh as he takes in the room, looking for something to distract him from what he had just seen (and smelled). He glances at the grandfather clock by the fireplace and sees that it’s approaching dinner time. At the mention of food he feels his stomach churn rather violently. 

He had lost his appetite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is wondering, this is what a mountain lion sounds like https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pxo8X5uIWRE and this is what a group of coyotes sounds like https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YtsZoIe3Czk. They're pretty wild, and can easily be mistaken for people screaming. I don't believe I've ever personally heard any, since the walls of my house are pretty thick, but I've heard some weird shit while camping... Ever heard (of) a loon?


	4. Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allergies suck. The countryside sucks. Hangovers suck, too, but more so when you're a sick lightweight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honey - Honey is a common healing agent that has been used for centuries as a topical antibiotic on wounds and acne. It can also be used for sore throats, colds, and other common ailments. Localized honey is known to help with allergies, as the traces of pollen are said to lessen the body's reaction to said pollens.

It took less than a week before Robbie's allergies hit him full force. 

Given the fact that he had lived in a metropolis for more than 3/4 of his life, he didn't come in contact with pollen that often. He never really went into any parks or arboretums, and as he lived in the penthouse of his building, he had complete reign over the rooftop. No gardens, no pigeon coops. Just a nice, allergen-free space to go and smoke on occasions.

Subsequently, it was also less than a week before Robbie had to head back into town. He couldn't get supplies (allergy meds, toiletries, etc.) sent to his door here, so he figured now was just as good a time to get more groceries than any other. 

Robbie opened the door of his car, a sleek, black and silver 1958 Cadillac Fleetwood, and crawled in. The raven haired man cringes with the realization that last night's heavy rain had resulted in the sides of his car being smattered with seeds and bits of grass. He'd just have to wash it off later, he supposes.

 

Robbie stops by the local diner before heading out for gas and groceries, as he hadn't had any breakfast that morning. The interior of the building is of a higher quality than he expected, with it's quaint interior and rustic theme. The wooden flooring pairs nicely with the plain walls, and the light fixture's soft glow provides just enough to be able to see comfortably with, but not to the point that it's overbearing. There are roughly 12 or so tables, 6 of which lined up against the windows for a clean view of the neighborhood (not that there was much to see, of course). Overall, the place reminded the lanky man of one of those roller skating diners. He wouldn't be surprised if they had carhops. Robbie pulls one of the chairs out from under a table situated away from the windows and sits down before pulling out one of the menus. 

Eventually, a women in jeans, a blue T-shirt, and a white apron steps up and asks for his order. Robbie pauses for a second before responding with a request for a breakfast platter and a black coffee, paired with cream and sugar. The blonde scrunches her face up in distaste before scribbling that down onto her notepad and walking to the back. Robbie can't help but hope that her expression was due to his taste in coffee and not himself. He may have not made a good impression yet, but he'll be damned if these people already want him dead within his first week of being in town.

Not long after, a different women, one with a shock of electric blue hair, walks up to his table and hands him his coffee.

"Sorry, the food is gonna take a little bit. It's just me and Debbie today." 

The woman's painted lips tilt upwards in an apologetic half-grin and she shrugs. Unlike most other people he had the misfortune of running into, who's expressions were either pinched and forced into a smile, or who hadn't even bothered to try and be friendly, her smile seemed rather genuine and nonchalant. Easygoing.

"You're the one who moved in down the road, right?"

"If you consider 20 miles to be down the road, then yes. That would be me."

The woman smiles and extends a hand, well manicured nails filed down to blunt points. Robbie stands, gives her outstretched hand a firm shake, and then leans against the side of his table.

"Robert Rotten."

"Bessie. I run Busybody Diner."

 

The Cadillac speeds through the gravel road, underneath trees that cast ethereal shadows in the twilight. Robbie hums a tune, the name of which he had forgotten years prior, making a mental note to invest in a portable speaker for his phone. It wasn't like auxiliary chords were a trend in 1958, and a majority of the radio stations in the area only played gospel and country.

Robbie scowls up at the shadow of the Queen Anne Victorian at the end of the road. The tires sink into the marshy grass of his lawn when his car finally rolls to a stop, and he slings his car door open, trying his damndest to keep mud from getting on his Oxfords.

As soon as Robbie makes it through the doorway he hangs his coat up, slips his shoes off, and trudges off toward the kitchen and to the refrigerator, pushing a few cans on pop out of the way and grabbing one of the bottles of Chianti from the back. Personally, the lanky man was a fan of ice wines and ports, but he preferred to order them himself. He tended to buy cheaper kinds, such as Cabernet Sauvignon from stores. Oh well. Wine is just wine once the pleasant buzz kicks in, isn't it?

No matter how much the dryer kinds burn on the way down.

After a few heavy gulps from the bottle, Robbie sighs and stares into the empty kitchen. He ought to get a nice dining room table and a few chairs, shouldn't he? To fill in the empty space... Maybe in a few weeks. He wonders if there are any auction houses nearby, and makes a mental note to check.

Outside, the clouds seem to have dispersed and moonlight is falling over the lake and onto the thickets of cattails and willows that surround it. A few birds still chitter and loons squabble in the water.

Taking another swallow of wine, Robbie replaces the cork and moves to pull his medicine out it's packaging. Idly sniffing, he wonders if he should take it now or later before resolving that no, he didn't want to kill himself thanks to bad judgement. Double downing is for junkies. He probably should've taken the medication instead of immediately popping open a bottle of alcohol, but Hell, he really didn't want to be thinking at that moment.

Chucking away the boxes, Robbie notices that his footsteps are tangling; every moment threatens to be the one that makes him fall against the sharp edge of a counter as he stumbles from the kitchen. Having eaten nothing since that morning, Robbie’s stomach is beginning to pinch and the alcohol is working too quickly for him to coordinate a half-decent path toward his recliner in the sunroom.

Flushed from the sudden rush of heat from below his collar, Robbie walks sluggishly through the dark, catching himself against the walls for support. He stumbled into his living room, falling into his recliner. He doesn't readjust himself into a more comfortable position.

 

A click comes from the hallway.

Robbie trips over his feet, yanking the table cloth when he falls against the curved edge of the slab of timber. Robbie’s heart is thumping as if he is being choked of air.

The lock of the front door clicks again and Robbie sees the handle turn from the threshold between the dining room and the lounge. The hinges squeak when the door opens in a wide arc.

A strangled, petrified whine catches in Robbie’s throat when a figure steps through the door into the hallway. The moonlight disappears behind the door and Ren can no longer see what has entered the house.

Footsteps clack against the hardwood floorboards. A switch is flicked in the dark and a small ember sparks on the ceiling of the hallway, budding into a full bloom of light.

_He isn't supposed to be home yet._

The frames of paintings glint under the slowly growing luminescence of the lamp, and an oval mirror hangs beside a coat rack weighed by long garments. A burgundy rug lines the floor, tapering as it greets walls that are masked with cream wallpaper.

Dark leather shoes move across the carpet with leisurely steps in the familiar hallway. A suit jacket is flipped off a narrow shoulder and held in the crook of the arm as a man dressed in bright pink slacks leans toward the oval mirror. The man checks his makeup in the mirror’s reflection, the high color on the pale cheeks of his face glowing in the dim light. A silver cigarette case glints from the back pocket of his trousers.

Leaning back, the man licks his fuchsia lips, the gesture slow and slack, suggesting that he has been drinking. The man drags his nails over his lower lip in a movement that is all too familiar for Robbie and causes him to suck in a sharp breath.

The sound is too loud in the night cloaked house and the black-haired man turns around, stark in the light of the hallway. His startled grey eyes search the room.

“Sugarplum? Are you here?” he asks the silence.

Seconds bear by. The fear eases off his shoulders and the man disappears from the hallway. His footsteps ascend the staircase. The light extinguishes.

Pale and shaking, Robbie appears form behind the wall of the dining room and looks to the hallway. Finding it empty, he releases a wheezing breath. Stumbling, he comes from his hiding spot and walks into the center of the lounge.

A light switch clicks upstairs and Robbie sees an orange glow pouring down the staircase like an ethereal stream.

Gripping the banister, feeling the soothing familiarity of the timber beneath his hand, Robbie walks up the stairs. One step at a time, he makes the slow journey toward the landing where the wash of light waits for him.

At the top of the stairs, Robbie looks down the corridor and sees an open room that casts the light over the closed dark timber doors with golden handles. He can hear feet moving across carpet, papers shuffling and cloth rustling. He follows the corridor toward the door that gapes into the office.

The black haired man drops his jacket on a chair and stands with an expression of deep thought. He is not aware of Robbie as he turns a crisp typed page of an open file with the pinch of his fingers. Robbie, forgetting himself, leans forward to take a better look. The flooring creaks underfoot with the motion.

A sharp gasp rings through the air as the man turns, expression molding from shock to anger.

"Robin? Why aren't you at school?"

 

Suddenly, Robbie jerks awake. He blinks, rubbing at his bleary eyes in the too-bright room, and his hands come back wet. Had he been crying?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't drink, and I also don't have any allergies, but the pollen down here is awful. Part of the reason I haven't been updating as much recently is because the pollens got me sick. The other part is a lack of ideas and motivation. If you'd like to talk to me about things I've confused involving pollen allergies and drinking, or just want to talk about ideas for this AU, please hmu in the comments!
> 
> Also, I just wanna point out that Busybody Diner is based on a real place near where I live. The place got shut down for awhile due to employees using the place for dealing drugs, but someone else bought it late last year. It's just these two old lady's holding down the fort- both of which cook and take orders, like Deb and Bessie in this, because I'm uncreative. The place has delicious ass loaded potato skins, though. So many carbs.
> 
> (I'm really tired and unhappy with this chapter guys. I'm just posting it now because I haven't updated in around 2 months and I don't know what else to put for this filler chapter. So sorry.)

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like, you can find me on Tumblr here https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cinder-reads-and-writes. I post my ramblings sometimes.


End file.
